


Accustomed to Running

by DeCarabas



Series: Fugitives Together [32]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 15:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16835728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/pseuds/DeCarabas
Summary: For the prompt: "Cursed, blessed."





	Accustomed to Running

“The Chantry knows how much magic can help during a Blight. Of course they’d pretend the darkspawn were our fault.”

Anders has abandoned his writing desk, restlessly peering into the fireplace of their bedroom, talking more to himself than to Hawke, sorting his thoughts out. “Because if mages caused the Blights, if being born with magic is the Maker’s curse, if it’s a punishment, that makes the Blights our mess to clean up. Makes the Chantry feel justified in locking us up so they can have fireballs on command.”

And Hawke leans on one elbow, watches Anders’ ink-stained fingers running absentmindedly over the Tevinter Chantry amulet again and again, like he’s learning it by feel, the newest addition to the tangle of amulets against his bare chest.

 _Magpie_ , Anders calls Hawke sometimes, with the way Hawke can’t resist picking up every shiny object they stumble across, fondly teasing; but Anders never seems to take off any of those shiny objects Hawke’s given him. As if he might have to run at any moment, with only the clothes on his back. 

( _And he might, we might_ , says that part of Hawke’s brain that’s still hiding in Lothering, still waiting for the day the bribe money isn’t enough and he’ll have to find a new place to hide; that wonders if Anders will come with him, if and when it comes to that. There’s something reassuring about all that shiny jewelry always hidden away under Anders’ armor.)

There’s a dark streak of ink on the shell of Anders’ ear where he’d shoved the strands of hair that had come loose from the rest, and Anders talks like he can’t get the words out fast enough— _they train you to fight before and above all else, throw you to a duel to the death for a graduation ceremony;_ and _if they need magic to protect them during the Blights then the chance of any mage being able to choose not to is terrifying, as if they think maybe you won’t protect anyone but yourself unless you’re forced into it, magic on a leash;_ and _the treaty with the Wardens, what kind of treaty can you possibly justify making with the Circle when you’re dragging people into it in chains_ —

Anders’ grip tightens on the delicate gold chain of the Tevinter amulet, a quick, sharp tug.

Hawke watches Anders’ chest visibly rise and fall with a deep breath. And Anders says, “But there were mages before the Blights, before Andraste. Was their magic a curse too?” Looks at Hawke directly for the first time since he stood up from his writing desk, as if Hawke might actually have an answer for that.

 _I don’t want you to run,_ Hawke realizes, looking at Anders like this, earnest and ink-stained. When the bribe money and the Amell name isn’t enough, when asking Anders, Justice, to run away with him will mean asking him to leave the Gallows and the Underground behind— _I don’t want you to run._


End file.
